as the sight becomes clearer, the words become ever more mis-understandable.
children are the ones with whom real speaking is possible, without much words.
unblocked. unstuck. unchained.
is there really, really, really, really many ways to do it.
looking at now, it is always the same old clear boundless view. and there, not really opposite, not passive, an out of sight, aliveness.
can a bullet travel any other way it traveled. can sight be foreseen.
do events have a start and an end. is it not eventlessness.
smooth, non-stop living.
always nicely crossing the self-imagined boundaries.
what the view doesn't hold. that which is out of simple sight.
no, it does not exist. not really. as the sight moves. things, the world, the roads, the cars, the birds, the machines, the trees, the sky, the sun... as the sight moves, all comes inside, and all comes inside.
a frameless appearance it is. there is not much distinction going on. colors. sounds. sensations.
becoming still and quiet as if preparing to catch a deer. looking out for thoughts. will they come by, waiting silently, so they can get caught in this trap and eaten alive.
all in all there is always something to do. something to live in.
chop wood, do laundry.
the chicken eggs, the fire wood.
the way i drip down from here.
cucumbers growing on trees.
apples growing on cactuses.
old woman looking at facebook.